


Nameless Conjurer

by rhiannonsgypsy



Category: N/A - Fandom
Genre: Other, Poems, Poetry, poem, poem book
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-13 21:03:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 8,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17495333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhiannonsgypsy/pseuds/rhiannonsgypsy
Summary: The words I cannot speak.The moments I dare not reflect upon.Projected onto the glowing white expository.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Est. '99

 

Fairies Among the Pines

Stand in the open meadow  
before the fence and the padlock  
and the signs -  
you might hear a gypsy wind  
and the baby's breath will dance to its tune  
waltzing between your ankles.  
Look up  
and if your eyes are wide enough  
and brown enough  
and innocent enough  
you might catch spirits conversing in the clouds  
inspecting you from above.  
Let the elementals guide you  
do not resist when they gently take your hand  
and lead you up the mountain  
to the field of yellow daisies  
where you can finally sleep in peace  
because you are guarded by clever wisps.  
Wake to the sound of friendly goblins  
chasing each other down the path  
over the forgotten obstacle course  
under the great and powerful pine trees  
that stand tall unconditionally.  
Drink tea with the fairies  
around the stump that looks like a mushroom  
and eat incarnadine berries off viridescent leaves  
in hopes that maybe one day  
they'll let you fly with them.  
Enjoy their company while you can  
because one day  
you'll blink  
and it will all be gone.


	2. Plaid Shirts and Six Packs

Listening to Leonard Cohen while sitting on a raspberry coloured couch covered in dog hair that we've had since before I was born. Lawn chairs slowly fill up with people who don't have to ask before they show up, the neighbours hear the beckon of our laughter and grab their six packs before heading over. Like every night before and every night to come. The next generation has taken over, but the rituals remain the same. The deck still has that one hole in it, we use the same old ashtrays, the yard is the same, the boards are the same, the pond is the same, the gene pool is the same, but here we are. New and fresh in comparison. We were born into a hellish world and walked through the fire together, hand in hand. Which is how we remain today. The parents that treated us like the garbage that we are now are gone, leaving us alone, but a united front against the cruelty of the riches that lie across the train tracks.  
Our childhoods are behind us, but the memories that we all share will forever be captured. In our hearts, in our minds, on film, and in our souls. My footprints stain the hills behind our house and the field that now has a fence around it. It was here first. And I know how to pick locks - we all do. We sit around and drink beer, make a mess, share cigarettes, cause a riot, raise hell, pass a blunt, take in the air as the day turns into night. Our parents used to sit in these chairs after work and let themselves wallow in the second-rate lives that we all live on this side of town while us kids ran around the forest and played hockey in the streets, pushing each other on roller skates and climbing trees.  
Now, we come home and change out of our work clothes, let our hair down, throw on whatever plaid shirt or denim jacket isn't too dirty, and light up a smoke. Looking out the window to see whose backyard will be hosting our motley crew tonight. Drink it in. This is where we belong. We do not run, we cannot leave, we don't deserve anything more, or less. This is where it begins, this is where we are now, and this is where it ends. This is where we've found each other.  
These are our roots.


	3. When Suppression Fails

it was concealed then and it is concealed now  
seeking refuge on a different balcony  
than the one we hid in above a crowd of three hundred  
flat plastic shoes clacking in the dark  
we came out of the chimney and i reached for your hand -  
it had to be an act  
i can't see your eyes but i can see your soul  
it was dark then too  
hot chocolate and spray paint  
saturday mornings and sewing needles  
you carried me on your back through places we shouldn't have been  
the boy's washroom after hours  
you shared your twix bar and you shared your mind  
i didn't think about it -  
not about the backseat  
not about the golden retriever  
not about the jack of spades  
the end of the era came under the christmas lights in august  
a mickey in one hand and car keys in the other  
but that was not the worst thing  
you told me to run  
i wanted to stay  
i wanted you to beg me to stay  
blowing through the intersection -  
but we continued to pretend  
there was never anything there  
and the morning before the flight  
my suppression of you came up with the vodka  
burning and searing  
the thief got away and you did too  
five hundred and sixty-five dollars  
seven hundred and thirty-two days  
gone with the ocean of you.


	4. The Dawning

she wears a cloak with holes in it  
she apologizes when picking flowers  
she braids her hair  
she runs the same path and never grows tired of the sights  
she smokes cheap cigarettes  
she reads tarot cards  
she gives away advice that she cannot follow  
she collects  
she wears a gemstone around her neck  
on her fingers  
her ankle  
her ears  
she has suffered  
she cries  
she falls into the same traps  
again and again  
she loves him  
no she doesn't  
she calls her grandmother  
she has been taken by the wind  
she picks locks  
she breaks rules  
her coats all smell of smoke  
she listens to rock and roll  
she drives too fast  
she has swallows on her wrist  
her jeans are all torn  
but some have flowers on them  
she dreams of whales  
her eyes are brown  
she writes stories  
she paints her nails  
she congregates in the forest  
she never sleeos  
she works at a grocery store  
she wants to run  
no she doesn't  
she left home  
she came back  
she's an antique  
she's afraid of birds  
but loves their songs  
she can't whistle  
she can sing  
she stands on her toes  
she drinks her vodka straight  
she'll tell your fortune  
but doesn't know her own  
she's friends with fate  
with destiny  
irony  
and philosophy  
though they don't always agree on everything  
she whispers secrets to the moon  
and laughs with the stars  
winks at saturn  
she keeps dozens of diaries  
and never finishes them  
she presses flowers  
she paints rocks  
she wears a bandana  
she sun paints freckles on her face  
a dream catcher around her arm  
she reads old books with faded pages and dusty covers  
you'll never know her name  
she doesn't want you to.


	5. Turn the Corner

For whatever reason, walking around that corner always seemed like a reality check.  
The first time, I was only a freshman,  
Full of clichéd hope and excitement that masked the uncertainty -  
A smile on my face and a spring in my step.  
Yes,  
I was already tainted, but I thought the worst was behind me.  
The divorce, the mourning, the alcoholism, the suicides.  
The addiction, the dark secrets, the psychosis.  
They were miles away,  
Left behind with the people who knew.  
I was brand new when I turned the corner.  
But,  
The second time I turned the corner, I was in love,  
The third time, an old friend had stepped out in front of a bus,  
The fourth, I was holding my family together by delicate strings,  
That were all attached to my own fingers.  
The fifth time I turned the corner, I knew things that I wish I didn't,  
and the sixth time, i had been hospitalized.  
The seventh, I had been violated in my own house,  
On my own couch, at my own party, by the boy I thought I loved.  
The eighth time I turned the corner, my grandma was dead,  
The ninth time, I had been abandoned by the one person I chose to love,  
The tenth my child cousin was dead in his sleep,  
The eleventh time I turned the corner,  
I was not yet broken.


	6. Blind Eye

Your eyes and mine  
and theirs.  
The memories are gone with the dusty walls  
so we flail blindly and kick against the seaweed.  
At midnight we realized that it was a delusion  
but we took off our glasses.  
The car with no top  
with the horse on its front.  
It was ours but it wasn't.  
It was where I kissed you with clouded lungs  
just off the highway.  
He drove too fast  
but we looked the other way.  
We wrapped ourselves around a tree in the night  
and walked to her house with our blood combined.  
We were in love but we weren't  
too much time on our hands  
one backyard too many.  
I was hydrogen peroxide and you were vinegar  
but we shut our eyes.  
I stole the lid off your bottle and put it on mine  
you told them what they wanted to know.  
We're allergic to the seasons -  
coup de soleil.

But we turn a blind eye.


	7. Hidden

A safehaven found in the very centre of the chaos.  
It was once a place of secrets to be found,  
the only hidden things  
were the spices in the back.  
I used to sit here not seeking refuge,  
but fun.  
For my fun consisted of reorganizing jars of jam  
and alphabetizing the spice rack.  
But,  
then I turned three and comprehension set in.  
Then,  
it was I who was hidden in the cupboard,  
not the clove and thyme.  
It was where I sat as the storm raged on,  
as the words grew venomous  
and I waited for a slammed door  
to signal safety.  
It was where I hid the cigarettes  
because I'd never been one to wait for a miracle.  
That was the lat time I intervened.  
But,  
I soon outgrew the cupboard.  
Now,  
here I am -  
searching for a new safehaven  
in all the wrong places.


	8. Romanticized

Who are you?  
I've been wondering for four hundred and thirty-six days.  
They thought that it began with a stolen rose  
and a midnight promise,  
but we know that it all started with hot chocolate  
and breaking the law.  
I've never asked the question,  
because the answer can secretly only be produced by my own lips.  
It was that damned house on the corner,  
the one that we can't drive by  
without now noticing its emptiness.  
The house that once was,  
the house where shit could go down without fail.

The first time I wondered was upon catching your eye  
in the rear-view mirror.  
Who are you?  
Not only that,  
but what the hell am I doing with you?  
Funny that the day i decided to change it all  
was the very day that we met.  
We only had that half hour,  
before everything fell apart as quickly as it had commenced.  
Yet, we both appreciated that it was not fun,  
but intriguing while it lasted.  
The car that smelled of crayons  
held the delusion that faded with the ring of a bell,  
but it was neither yours not mine to hold on to.  
Still,  
my knuckles turned white.

The second time I wondered was on the last day of the year,  
when you crossed my mind as I coated my eyes with silver.  
I wondered if maybe the person that I had decided to be  
stood a better chance than previously.  
As it turned out,  
she did.  
Making my way to that infamous house,  
my intentions were officially solidified  
through verbal clarification with the closest thing I had to a confident.  
And while you weren't the reason for my presence,  
you were the deciding factor.

Who are you?  
This time, there was no glass between us  
when my eyes posed the question -  
it was just you,  
me,  
and a house full of unacknowledged shadows.  
And from that moment on, we became magnetically charged.  
Not only did we break apart momentarily  
only to be drawn back together  
many times that night,  
but continuously to this very day.  
I'll admit,  
the edges of the memory are blurry,  
thus blocking out the imperfections  
that should have warned us from the start.  
But we are both stubborn,  
and though we were working in tandem that night,  
it would ultimately lead to the demise of the dynamic that never was.  
Well that,  
plus the undeniable lack of every essential ingredient.

We are not who we were  
on the evening of the firecrackers and champagne,  
because I was merely a mirage.  
Not real.  
Fabricated to please your eye.  
We were guarded,  
trying to impress,  
yearning for success.  
The only reason that it worked  
was because for a few beautiful hours,  
success meant the same thing for you and me.

And so it began.

The chase  
and the half-hearted escape  
that remains in motion forevermore.  
Upon realizing I had not only finished one year  
but began another  
with you pressed up against me,  
I should have known that it would mean more than I wanted it to,  
so I initiated my evasion.  
The first escape was provided by a cigarette by the front door  
only to admit defeat moments later  
when the house beckoned me inside through the voice of Annie Lennox.  
And there you stood -  
waiting.  
But, who are you?  
Reality came up with the sun,  
and it was vile.

But, from that point on, we were stuck.  
Like two broken records playing the same song  
but completely out of sync.  
Expectations were high, motivation was low,  
differences were abundant,  
and still my mind screamed who are you?  
And all the while every piece of me was chained to another.  
My eyes  
heart  
body  
and soul.  
But, the tether appeared broken to reality.

The notion of being doomed  
had always been romantic and beautiful according to Shakespeare,  
but I am here to tell you  
that there is nothing elegant nor desirable  
about wasting years on an ill-fated affair.  
Gut-wrenching  
heartbreaking  
anxiety-inducing  
to put it in elementary familiar terms.  
They all closed their eyes  
and suffocated us with words of perfection,  
diluting any and all common sense that could have prevented  
the frustration  
the humiliation  
the mutual desperation.  
Leaving us without even the hope of a choice.

Among all that,  
was the confusion.  
We didn't want each other -  
not under the daylight.  
But we were consumed.

The true moments came to us in secret,  
determined the hide the truth from the coyotes  
that were set on ripping us to shreds  
all in the name of love.  
They came to us in the back of the rusty red pickup truck,  
under a twinkling tent canopy,  
beside the river by your house,  
in that bad part of town where we sat under the stars.  
But, during those foggy moments,  
who were we?

One thing was for certain -  
we had lost sight of who we were.  
And we were successfully dragging each other down  
lower and lower  
to the point of no return.  
The summer was not real, the heat had rendered us delusional.  
And in the end,  
it was me who ran away.  
I grabbed my bug-out bag and gave in the the abduction of the city lights,  
leaving you behind to remain  
where it all began.  
Now, the only thing that matters  
is not that it happened,  
but that it is over.

The leaves swept us away  
and the house was exorcised by the cold  
and a divorce.  
We are that night  
and we will always have that night,  
but time has proven through trial and error  
that it cannot be recreated,  
nor should it be.


	9. Bring Me

The colour purple in its rawest form  
The Ukrainian words my grandmother used  
The pearl that fell from my lost necklace  
The fifteenth summer  
My first birthday  
My father's best days  
The rose that he stole from the vase  
The frog that lived in my hot tub  
The last song I ever learned to play  
A grain of sand from the Arrow Lakes  
The flakes of green in my first love's eyes  
The way my grandfather used to be  
The piece of duck tape I used to fix my ballet slipper  
A root beer lollipop  
A freckle from my best friend's skin  
A piece of seaweed under the broken board of the pier  
A lucky penny found on the floor of the theatre  
My sister's first stuffed animal  
A speck of fibreglass from the insulation in my attic  
The photograph of us among the vines  
A single ring from my dead dog's chain-link collar  
The dragonfly that inspired my aunt's tattoo  
Bring me the good things


	10. cheap cigarettes

demand  
four different group chats  
they fight over music  
he brings a plus one  
she's a girl  
demand  
ceramic planter ashtrays  
four bags of ice  
a windy night  
lawn chairs  
demand  
spilled beer  
a bummed light  
he chose me  
again  
she gets mad  
sorry  
demand  
makeshift pong table  
vogue pearl  
weed in the bushes  
sex in the shop  
the chain  
fleetwood mac  
demand  
i lost the lid  
another smoke  
struggle with the tents  
fire ban  
a cigarette candle  
disappointment  
the incident  
hallucination  
run  
happy birthday.


	11. Things That Don't Compare to Your Eyes

Bluebells with bowed heads  
A feather from a cerulean jay  
The fine wings of a blue morpho butterfly  
Fresh pigment of a blueberry  
Brazilian skies  
Turquoise waters of the Maldives  
A sapphire hidden between rocks  
Neptune's cosmic glow  
The stolen scale of a tang  
Key 9B/G  
A four-inch stiletto heel  
A soaked wicker sunhat  
The last firework of the summer  
An oil stain  
Beta Librae in the night sky  
Russian Red lipstick  
An unnecessary lab coat  
The opposite of a threat  
Serenity  
The utilization of the colour in an advertisement campaign  
Intensity  
The blood of a queen  
Inspiration  
A low pulse rate  
Telltale sadness  
Highest productivity  
Trustworthiness  
Picasso's blue period  
Safety.


	12. The Sugar Shack

There was a drug deal going on behind me and the product of a hidden pregnancy in the stroller beside me, but I was in the land of innocent euphoria. I didn't know that there were needles in the drawer next to the one with the rainbow jawbreakers. I didn't know that someone had died at the reckless hand of the man whose hose I rode. I din't know that the river on which I learned how to skip stones had been poisoned.


	13. Nine Churches

Drive too far and you'll miss it  
the town with the ridiculous name.  
 _Should I Stay or Should I Go_ _?_  
It was screaming at me through the AM radio of the little red truck  
that now sits immobile and rusting.  
Most people knew,  
they were either dying to get out  
or ready to stay.  
I was panicking,  
I didn't feel trapped and yet I was suffocating.  
I knew too much.

To anyone else,  
it was somewhere that you passed through for a week or two  
during the times that the sun rarely set.  
To me, it was my  _Personal Jesus_.  
It's not just the empty house on the corner,  
it's the place where I fist met him,  
drunk and smiling through the uncertainty.  
It's not just the bonfire pit in the middle of nowhere,  
it's the place where everyone's favourite frenemy was raped  
with a hundred people only yards away.  
It's not just the basement of my oldest friend's house,  
it's the place where I made my friendship bracelets sixteen years ago,  
it's now the place I hide my cigarettes,  
it's where I went to far, caused my insides to  _Rapture_.

There are those who know and those who are blissful.  
There are those like me, who've lived here forever,  
and there are those who come around just for the highlights.  
The summer is the  _Bella Donna_ ,  
it makes you feel like everything is clean and desirable.  
Like maybe, you could be too.  
But during this time, everything is different.  
Things are glowing, the imperfections are blurry.

It isn't just the abandoned school,  
it was my first playground,  
now it's the perfect place to taunt the cops.  
It isn't just the pond,  
it's where they jumped in and killed my fish.  
It isn't just the deserted mill  
that everyone is afraid of,  
it's a place to picnic and watch the doves.  
It isn't just the pier,  
it's a hierarchy by day,  
one where I reign supreme and materialistic.  
By night, it's where we meet to get high and skinny dip,  
baring our souls  _Like a Prayer_ under the moonlight.  
It's a joke,  
yet it's the only thing that keeps us afloat.

It isn't just my home,  
it's the one thing that I need to escape.  
But I don't want to go -

Summerland.


	14. I Just Wanted to Say

I just wanted to say  
I'm sorry  
I wrote my name  
on your hand.  
The marker  
smelled toxic,  
but I liked  
the permanence.  
I don't think  
it's washable.


	15. Sorceress

There's a reason they call me Woman of the Mountains.

I'll give you what you need  
packed in a glass bottle  
liquid the colour of symbolized wisdom  
with freckles of jade floating within.  
Alchemy at its finest.  
I'm a blue rose  
one that does not speak out  
when you water me with bleach.  
Dream Giver, you cry  
and throw your empty flask at my feet.  
I'll give you the gold that laced my eyes  
so that you can see in colour  
conjure tanzanite visions that you shouldn't see  
break the rules that I wrote  
to pull your lips with my strings.  
Your words were warped when you promised silence  
but you told them anyway  
so they rip the flowers from my hair  
light their torches  
screaming burn the witch.  
Because I know the Devil  
but Mother Nature is my fifth nitrogen base  
because I dance with the night shadows  
but I sing for the morning doves.  
You scorched my skin  
but when you beg for more  
shoving a barren decanter into my fingertips  
I give you the last petal from my bellflower.  
Spellbound, you fed on the phoenix that was my soul  
you didn't have to run away with my actinolite -  
because I mixed them together in a carafe  
and handed them over  
asking for nothing but a row of teeth.  
And my home among the constellations reaches out  
a sister of the moon like me can only be safe among Saturn's rings.  
And the stars are watching  
their tears cling to my windows  
because I don't mind  
but they do.  
I'll give you what you want  
I can bottle my dragonfly wings  
all you need to do is ask.

Surrender your desires to my abilities  
until I am nothing but stardust  
scattered among the trees.


	16. Getaway Car

I am a porcelain dancer trapped in a broken music box.  
I am this moment - here and now.  
I am the flower who never bloomed with the spring.  
I am the difference between a story and an equation.  
I am heaven-sent but introducing you to the Devil.  
I am a shared sandwich in a backyard treehouse.  
I am yours and you are mine.  
I am the sand beneath fingers searching for gold.  
I am a hat sinking low over my own eyes.  
I am only a child but forced to stop dreaming.  
I am trying to cut down a tree, but my saw lacks a chain.  
I am offered a ring only to discover that it had been stolen.  
I am running away.  
I am the delinquent escaping in a getaway car  
driving until I can no longer see the danger.


	17. candle snuffer

she knows better.  
a black dress  
a red rose  
three plane tickets  
and a social worker.  
the shadow of death had become a monsoon  
the house was caught in the flood  
its tenants swept across the globe  
the silver and gold rusted  
worthless.  
a birthday that was never celebrated.

she was left alone  
she never ate  
she never slept  
but she smiled.  
behind her eyes you could see the weak spot  
you showed her things she never knew of  
and you grinned without showing teeth  
so she wouldn't see the baphomet.  
she clung to you because of the darkness  
the familiarity  
the tragedy of the commons.

you told her you loved her and she sobbed into your chest  
you planned a counterfeit future  
she saw the light.  
but it did not come from the sun  
or the moon  
or the stars  
or anything ethereal  
it came from your own high beams  
unbeknownst to her  
so she heeded no warning.

she hated honesty  
despised the rainbow  
her insides churned at the smell of dior  
but the pain  
the pain illuminated her world.  
you painted her skin with your firsts  
eminence purple and delft blue  
and she smiled  
but no one knew  
because it was for your eyes only.

and now the promises turned to threats  
and the t-shirts turned to turtlenecks  
the prosperous turned to the diseased  
and the prism turned to stone.  
her world was black and white  
the colours that lingered on her fingertips faded  
because you demanded them to.  
her eyes had been esoteric turquoise  
her smile transcendent rapture  
her skin was florid paragon  
she had been virtuous potential.  
you took her and you extinguished her  
and she let you.

makeup on shoulders  
colour for the first time since the trailer park  
the risk of a hollow laugh ringing through the dirt.  
so you grabbed the chair  
and you prevented the yeart  
for one hundred and eighty seconds  
while the lights flashed around you  
blue and red  
and the screams were inaudible  
but the steel was cold.

and then you're both locked away  
but your father has a good lawyer  
and her father is six feet under.  
so she cuts off all her hair  
and her wrists get in the way  
so they chain them to the frame  
and she can't cry  
because you dehydrated her only reservoir.

you are the reason she sleeps with one eye open.


	18. traffic lights

i was wrong.

it wasn't the convenience  
and it wasn't the boredom  
it wasn't what they said it was.

it was the looks  
that meant absolutely nothing  
save for curiosity and potential  
it was the hat that you wore  
and the flannel.

it was the trashy nights  
that turned into painful mornings  
shared under fluorescent lights  
the voice of ric ocasek  
coaxing us through the day  
telling you that i'm just what you needed.

it was the elastic band wars  
the phone calls  
and the sponges  
the way that you spoke to me  
and my scrunchie the colour of your eyes.

it was the way you left me  
again and again  
and the way that i never stopped waiting  
because that's who you were to me  
a hero  
that's who you are to me  
and you came back  
every time.

it was the time i found you on the couch  
and how we walked down the stairs  
our hands almost close enough  
but not quite.

how you came back with stories  
and her  
things that i was no longer a part of  
and it really wasn't about her  
it was about the cruel timing  
and the frustration  
the murphy's law  
and how the chain links were interconnected.

it was the coincidence  
on the day that didn't end well  
when i saw you on the boardwalk  
but i didn't know what i wanted  
i came off wrong  
but you told me you'd be there  
through the danger.

it was the way that you saw me  
and the way that i surprised you  
not the way that i thought it would be  
the stolen moments  
the wasted hours  
the crimes and the repercussions.

it wasn't how it was wrong  
it was how it was so very right  
and yet still wrong  
it was your laugh  
and the way you looked at me  
and the day you left  
you stole for me  
and we ran  
twenty-first century bonnie and clyde of the small town.

it was the secrets  
and the uncertainty  
and the feeling in my stomach that speaks louder than our words  
it was the day we talked  
and the way you grinned  
and the night that i waited for.

but it wasn't about my backyard  
or my birthday  
not about the incident  
not about the forest and the forgotten goodbye  
and the tears.

it was about the shared cigarette  
and the drunk driving  
the ac/dc  
and the way i held your hand searching for my lighter.

and then it was all about the pain  
and the fear  
and the embarrassment  
of the unknown  
it killed me but i expected it.

i saw you again  
it wasn't what i thought it would be  
i got drunk and left for the city  
because you brought her  
so i broke into a car  
and saw a deer on main street.

it wasn't the way that you joined us that night  
with a bag in your hands  
it was the smell of your cologne  
the way you took her seat  
and the phone call we shared.

it was never about her or him  
or her  
or him  
or here or there  
near or far  
it was about you and me  
hell  
it still is.

it wasn't about the parties that we forgot  
before i knew you  
and before you knew me  
where i gave you luck  
and you lifted me to the roof  
but i was scared of you  
and we didn't speak  
smart  
stupid.

it's about the nights to come  
the pier  
the streets  
and the weight of your head in my lap.


	19. To You

To you,

I really don't even need to be writing this. Because, I'm pretty sure you know exactly how I feel about you. But, here's the thing: maybe you don't. Which is why I'm going to do my best to put it into words and onto paper. Just, bear with me here.

You drive me absolutely crazy. Like, up the damn wall. You have no idea. You might think you do, because I tend to tell you, but that really isn't the half of it I hate that you're annoying. And that you know how to irritate me like no one else. I hate that you're rude and cynical and extremely cocky and I hate that you think I have a thing for you and that you told your ex-girlfriend about it. Even if you may be right, I hate how egotistical you were about it because I know damn well that you have a thing for me, too.

I hate how you're the tough guy that everyone thinks is going to stab them at parties. Because, you're not. And I really hate that you don't think that I can see that. You think think I can see that you're drowning inside? You don't think that you worry me and that I can't tell that your superiority complex is only masking a dangerously low self-esteem? You don't think I see what purpose your Instagram page serves? I hate how you don't think I notice when you got jealous of my boyfriend, even though I had just told you that I broke up with him. How you think it must mean nothing to me when you call me on the phone from across the store and let me spend time with you and ask about my day. You think that doesn't mean everything to me? When you look me in the eyes and tell me not to go? It means more than the very air inside my lungs.

I hate that you scare me. Because, you're not a nice guy, you do dangerous things and taunt me with them. And I really hate that you make me want to do them with you. My danger has always been just that - mine. I never wanted to share it until you accidentally stumbled into my world. I hate that I have no idea how you feel about me. Because, one second you're ignoring me, the next you're looking at me the way that every girl wants to be looked at, then we're fighting, you're telling me your secrets, we're laughing, and finally you're screwing my roommate's cousin. It's confusing, it makes me look stupid, it makes me feel foolish, and I hate it.

I hate the way you look. With your stupidly perfect body and your absurdly unforgettable blue eyes and your idiotically flawless hair. I hate that you're idealistically tall with muscles that may as well have been sculpted by angels themselves. I hate the way you tease me, and how you look at me, how you lean your arm against the wall to talk to me, and the things you say. Because, they're not what I want to hear, but they're perfect to me.

But, most of all, I hate how you make me feel. Because, that's the one thing that I really can't put into words. I've been down many roads with many different people, but I've never enjoyed the ride in this way. I've never felt the butterflies and seen the fireworks with anyone but you. And I hate that. Because, it happened all wrong, but it feels utterly right.

And for those reasons, I hate you. But, I do hope you know that when I say I hate you, I really mean that I love you. In the right kind of way. In that real, forever kind of way. And while I don't like to love you, I could never hate myself for loving you.

Yours forever.


	20. Colour Film

He was broken when he met her  
everyone around him could see  
and she wasn't trying to fix him  
she was just trying to put him back together.

She thought that her own glue would stick  
and that she herself was no longer tarnished  
but somewhere along the line  
the pieces never fused collectively to each other.

Until he flashed a grin  
and she maneuvered her eyes  
but his smile was dangerous  
and her look was knowing.

They thought he was everything  
the most important piece of the puzzle  
and they didn't know her name  
but she was the ace up his sleeve.

Because she loved him before she met his eyes  
but she only knew who they sad he was  
she couldn't stand the harsh reality  
but she loved him still.

She was only a green dress in his mind  
and later hidden behind thick glass  
but the first time the fluorescent lights danced across her face  
he realized he loved her since the checkered flags waved.

He shut the door and covered his ears  
yet she kept up and took his hands in hers  
and he didn't want to listen  
but she forced him to.

She cut her hands on his broken pieces  
but she'd built up a thick skin long ago -  
learned to wear gloves  
and he'd never seen that colour of blue before  
though he'd assumed it was merely a demon's mask.

If the past is dark he thought the future must be bleak  
but when she taught him to live in the present  
he saw a rainbow as if for the first time.


	21. For Your Information

For your information  
I took the car  
last night.  
It was just me.  
No,  
he wasn't there.  
It was dirty  
before I used it.  
No,  
I didn't go  
where you told me  
not to.


	22. Parochial

No one remembers how we met  
because really,  
we didn't -  
instead,  
we were born.  
Born to parents who were friends  
neighbours  
family  
and just like that,  
so were we.

Our world is different on this side of the train tracks  
we know it and so do they  
it isn't some dirty secret.  
Here,  
wealth doesn't mean money  
because none of us have money,  
it means parents that aren't abusive  
or alcoholic  
or gone.  
And rich doesn't mean fortunate  
because none of us are fortunate,  
it means able to keep food on the table  
having your parents worry about economics as opposed to you  
not having to get a job until you're a teenager.  
Like I said,  
it's different here.

But because the times were tough  
the love was real.  
The term "family" is conditional  
when it comes to blood.  
Mothers and fathers don't protect you from the shadows in your closet  
and the monsters under your bed  
because they're just as terrifying.  
Instead,  
you run to your friends in the middle of the night  
when your mother ran out on you again  
and your father drinks himself into another rage.  
I promise you,  
you can choose your family.

Somehow,  
perhaps through a miracle  
we found joy.  
What may as well have been a trailer park  
was sometimes a happy place where young children could play.  
Running through the forest trails,  
skating down the pothole-filled streets that no one bothered to fix,  
picking flowers and handing them out  
craft wars  
fishing in the pond  
climbing trees far too high  
riding dirt bikes that our fathers gave to us  
cheering each other on.

And while our parents were complicated  
they came together as we did  
and for a few beautiful hours each week,  
"normal" was a term that we were able to use -  
but cautiously.  
Every day was the same  
when our parents came home from work  
after us kids found our ways home from school  
we'd all come together.  
Backyards,  
green grass,  
various dogs,  
classic rock on staticky AM radios,  
and plenty of beer.  
That was who they were, you couldn't blame them.  
And we didn't complain  
because we got to see each other.

A new adventure every day  
competitions were our forte.  
As we dirtied our freshly washed jeans  
and ripped the elbows of our Salvation Army shirts  
some of us didn't care.  
The days turned to nights  
but it was okay,  
because we each had our own flashlight  
and knew every inch of that side of town  
like the backs of our tiny hands.  
Besides,  
even back then  
everything was better in the darkness.

Time is no one's friend.  
Least of all to the kids who grew up in squalor.  
Because it was as if one day we just woke up  
and there was no going back.  
Suddenly, we realized -  
there were rich kids  
with perfect families  
and big houses  
who went to church on Sundays  
and Tuesdays  
and Fridays.  
And not everyone's mothers leave without warning for weeks at a time  
not everyone's fathers drink three bottles of whiskey a day  
and most people see their grandparents  
or at least know who they are.

But, there's no slowing life  
and there's certainly no changing it.  
At least we grew together  
and the realizations were therefore not quite so detrimental.  
We were suddenly trapped in that unsettling age  
between childhood and adulthood  
but we stood hand in hand  
never wavering.  
The boys were shaving their faces  
the girls were wearing bras  
and all at once,  
we weren't chasing each other through the field  
and sharing sandwiches in treehouses.  
Not anymore.

We don't drink juice boxes on the playground  
and make fun of the girls whose pigtails are always perfect.  
We sneak liquor into slurpees  
and lose our men to those same girls.  
Our innocent bicycle obstacle course days are behind us  
because now we meet up on Saturday mornings in our sunglasses  
for the weekly drag races behind town  
on the old abandoned highway  
that's now nothing more than a forgotten dirt road.  
Throwing lighters back and forth  
and placing our bets  
though we tend to always bet on the same people  
because we're the only ones out there.  
The first year I only watched  
the next, I was a passenger  
seated next to Death himself disguised as a handsome boy with dusty eyes  
but this year  
I'm behind the wheel.  
And I win every time.

The law was never a finite term  
we now know that it can be played with.  
And it knows our names  
faces  
and addresses.  
But when you're already at the bottom  
not much of that matters.  
So, we drink and we drive  
and we get high in the library  
we get arrested trying to break into abandoned schools  
and that night, we lose our virginities on an old couch  
in the basement of a bar  
even though we're nowhere near legal.

Adulthood knocks the wind out of us  
and hits us before the others.  
Because then your mother's gone for good  
and your father beats you when he isn't selling drugs  
and your baby sister moves in with a friend on the safe side of town  
even though she's only in middle school.  
You're powerless  
and scraping by.  
But we have each other.  
It gets worse  
because now life consists of convincing each other to stay in school  
when all we want to do is either get a proper job  
so we can afford to eat  
or run the hell away  
as far from this dead end town as possible.  
But,  
that was never really an option.

We're cheating on science tests  
and failing pregnancy tests  
but it's not like our lives ever had any balance that we needed to maintain  
in the first place.  
It all falls apart  
and falls back together  
but through it all,  
it's us.  
It's always been us.  
The kids from the wrong side of the tracks.  
Who played on the monkey bars in my backyard  
climbed the cherry trees next door  
scaled the fences behind his old shed  
started smoking far too young  
and have always been able to raise hell better than anyone else in town.

And now we're only nineteen  
but our parents left and never looked back  
and the world is on our shoulders  
not at our feet.  
But maybe the best was always yet to come  
because with every day  
we get closer to a life worth living.  
I can look out my window and see the familiar faces  
that have always looked back at me,  
and that's all I need to know.  
We only cause trouble on the weekends these days,  
but that doesn't mean we're finished.  
It just means that now it's us kids who drag out lawn chairs to each other's yards  
after work every day  
and choose which old tapes we listen to  
and try to keep our younger siblings out of trouble.

We used to laugh when Don Fagen asked us if we were reeling in the years  
because we didn't get it  
and the answer had always been no -  
the years were ahead of us  
and we were impatiently waiting.  
But today,  
if the mood is right and the week has been tiresome,  
those words can bring a tear to our weary eyes.


	23. Corrections

He was never shot.  
We went back willingly  
with a round of applause  
a handshake to his right and a smile to his left  
as he got in the car that would take him  
to the rest of his life.

He recognized her immediately  
and he didn't harshen his voice.  
His doubts were never spoken  
and he didn't cast a single look of disbelief  
or sarcastic observation.

We welcomed with warmth  
and mimicked her appreciation  
making them feel at home.  
It didn't take hours  
and everyone was at ease.

He did not mock  
he cared.  
She never dragged him into the hallway  
and crossed her arms in disappointment.  
No,  
he did everything she hoped he would  
he was a hero  
and she smiled.

He shaved  
but she didn't notice  
so there was no electricity between their glances.  
She was impressed  
and he was supportive.

There were no late night arguments  
outside her door  
so he never witness the fluorescent shadow  
and came to appreciate  
the pigment of her eyes.  
She never had to twist his hand  
he did what they wanted.

He was not broken  
he didn't need her to help him face reality  
so they didn't lean on each other  
and he saved everyone else  
but not her.  
She was not challenged  
and he was not surprised.

It all was as it should have been  
but the outcome suffered.  
There was no curve  
no corner  
no slate.  
No rude awakenings  
and no harsh realities.

These are the corrections that should not have been made,  
we do not regret the errors.


	24. Not Quite Raining

I remember that night when you called  
Said you were outside my door but didn't want to wake my father up  
So I went outside in my pyjamas  
And we had nothing to do but sit in my car in the carport  
With the doors open  
On a muggy summer night  
I put the keys into the ignition  
And clicked them once  
You put in an old cd  
And we sat back with our legs hanging out of the car  
Letting Roger Waters fill the silence  
The tape slipped in places  
But then again so did we  
The leaves sounded like rain  
But the sky was clear  
The base rattled the doors  
But we let it  
The check engine lit up the dashboard  
But it always did  
And we sat there  
Because that's all we ever needed  
Proximity.


	25. соловей

She's always loved birds  
we knew one day she would join them  
in the eternal sapphire unknown  
we never knew it would happen this way  
or that it would be so soon  
I imagined her there  
when i dressed in white  
and wore flowers in my hair  
and the doves would have been for her  
not for me  
I inherited my lavender admiration from her  
she gave me the voice behind my song  
my first battles were fought  
behind the heavy drapes  
on the even awn  
in the chartreuse wagon  
among the snapdragons  
we owe her infinitely  
and yet she deserves more  
she's a Nightingale  
and she's going home.


	26. Vampire's Dream

We swam in a Mustang  
under the churning waves of the Full Buck Moon  
and the days were dark  
but the nights were iridescent.

Your eyes filled with questions  
and innocent pelagic  
and I was a siren  
calling to you under the boards  
but never under the sun.

The highway was a roller coaster  
dangerous and daunting  
but with a snap of Irony's cruel fingers  
it was the country road  
that sabotaged us.

We swam for the rocks  
to save ourselves from the siphon  
but the seaweed turned into snakes  
and their venom infected our ankles  
pulling us down  
to the nails at the bottom.

They were laughing  
as we gasped for air  
and I covered my eye  
to block out the fireworks  
but they pried my fingers open  
and you ripped into my chest  
to take hold of my medial  
and arrest the existence.


	27. Conditioned Stimulus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I once did cocaine off another girl's stomach at a high school house party. I think that if they heard me say that, my parents would be more worried that I was gay than that I snorted a life-altering drug.

You promised time and time again that you wouldn't end up like this.

You even had a t-shirt with that promise on it.  
In fact, we all had that shirt, but now we wear them ironically  
Like a big "fuck you" to the puppeteers.  
Taking the screen off the window and getting into the passenger seat  
of the Blue Car of Bad Intentions doesn't even feel wrong anymore.  
If you were still yourself, you might feel at least slightly guilty  
that your pink backpack that was once filled with school supplies and a marble collection  
now contained a two-six of vodka, a pack of smokes, and a bag of weed.  
The worst part is that you weren't even trying to impress anybody,  
you had simply lost sight of who you were  
as you saw the world through those rose-tinted nonprescription glasses  
because there was never anything better to do in this goddamned town.  
You were gone before you showed up,  
that wasn't unusual.  
Some people did shit like this for the euphoria  
or to receive a rush of counterfeit confidence -  
you don't even know why you do it.  
The kitchen is too crowded, with boys shouting about God knows what,  
you can't even see the living room through the clouds of smoke,  
and you know better than to set foot in the basement.  
You don't even know whose bathroom you're in,  
but you're told that a kid once ate drywall in here.  
You're crying in the bathtub because you were supposed to watch your sister tonight  
and your mother's heart would break if she knew where you were  
and what state you were in.  
Then again, who knows where she is  
and what state she's in.  
But suddenly, there's gold dust up your nose and you're seeing rainbows in the snow.  
The painting that fell to the floor is speaking to you,  
you're dancing but you don't even know if there's music playing.

And everything is alright,  
because distortion works like magic  
and spreads like wildfire.


	28. Independent Grocery Association

We said hello after we met  
the timeline was messy from the start.  
Acknowledging each other's existence for the first time  
in the break room  
sharing secrets with a British boy.  
Because we no longer had others  
to look at  
to speak to  
to obsess over.  
And I made nothing of it  
you were exactly who I thought you would be  
bold  
audacious  
philandering  
self-absorbed.  
But I was wrong.  
Because we had met before  
many times in face  
but we had no idea.  
The same friends  
the same parties  
the same town  
the same school  
the same backyard  
night after night  
but we didn't care.  
Because I thought I wanted something different  
and was too absorbed to see you  
and you were contradictory  
so we didn't even consider it.  
But there was a night  
during that one summer where I thought everything was falling together  
but really it was complicated  
and wrong  
and crumbling.  
I couldn't walk  
so you helped me onto the roof  
because I had had forty-two jell-o shots.  
And I stared at the stars  
maybe you stared at me  
maybe you stared at her  
and later, I stared at him.  
And I thought he was special  
but he was only a puppeteer  
and he trained me in ways I didn't know I could be drained.  
I never had time to look at you  
but you found me  
when I was sitting alone by the sink  
because he was pretending not to care.  
And you made me kiss the pong ball  
to help you make the shot  
maybe I've been your lucky charm since that night  
and we never even knew it.  
You called me your dear  
and I felt something different  
different than when he calls me his bitch  
I opened my eyes for only a moment  
and shut them again when he wrapped his arm around me.  
And then it was over  
forgotten.

There you wre  
twelve months later  
in a black v-neck  
and a logoed cap  
infiltrating my thoughts though I knew you shouldn't  
I couldn't help it.  
Because now I look to my right and see you  
looking to your left  
seeing me.  
You were someone who scared me  
because you brought a full flask to a funeral  
and drank beer on the beach in the middle of the day  
and skateboarded  
and drag raced  
and felt too much  
or nothing at all.  
just like me -  
fearfully intrigued.  
And I knew it was real  
when my best friend told me that you were the male version of myself  
she said the word  
soulmate  
but I pretended not to hear.  
I never thought I would see you smile  
I certainly never thought you would smile because of me  
because I ran into a door  
because you chased me through the aisles with a water gun  
because your sink splashed me  
because a customer asked if you were my boyfriend  
you didn't even know that I saw the smile  
and that was the best one.  
When there was danger  
he pushed me into the face of it  
while he stuck his tongue down my roommate's throat.  
Now there's danger  
and you told me to call you  
you'd be there.  
Difference.

I didn't even realize  
that you'd spent eight months hanging on the wall of my dorm room  
in a picture of my friends and I  
in that fated backyard.  
Just a face among a dozen faces  
another shadow of the night  
a pair of eyes vaguely familiar.  
You and me  
unknowing.  
Unending.


End file.
